This is something I've veen working on recently, its a kind of poetry, combining the dark style of the French poetry in the late 1800s, and a bit of a post modern style, the original idea is taken from a play, done here in amman (al-Shareef) about 3 months ago::
His sister wailed and cried after his death,his wife, horrified, shaved her head and polished her finger-nails,his daughter soon turned to darkness and silverware...Now, twice a year or twice a month, bacchanalian activities join them.He, on the other side of the apple, watches sometimes,enjoys it with a smile,Occasionally they feel him around,participating with soft vengence and a cool breeze...one thing for sure i can say...they do enjoy it on lonely devine Sundays.
"oh great creator of being,grant us one more hour to perform our art,and perfect our lives" Jim Morrison.
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